Careless Whisper: The Budget Quell
by david12341
Summary: Due to an accounting error the Gamemakers used up their entire budget on the 4674th Games. But the show must go on and now the team has to put together a quell with just a couple dozen blindfolds, a 50-year-old street performer, 100 dollars worth of ashtray pennies, twenty gallons of rose-scented perfume, and a CD of 'Careless Whisper' by George Michael. This is the Budget quell.
1. The Beginning

**Lux Slowings, most likely in his late 40s, Head Gamemaker**

Lux was nervous. Of course, he was always nervous about things, like whether or not one should actually study when on a study date, but this was a different kind of nervous. This was a kind of nervous that was like when a president of a dystopian country named after an ancient roman saying calls you into his office with the likely intent of locking you in a room with a bowl of tide pods. So when Lux was called into the office of a president of a dystopian country named after an ancient roman saying with the likely intent of locking him in a room with a bowl of tide pods, you can understand that his nervousness was not like that of a study date, but rather like that of when one is called into the office of a president of a dystopian country named after an ancient roman saying with the likely intent of locking you in a room with a bowl of tide pods.

So now you can see why Lux was nervous.

"Come in," called a voice that sounded oddly like the voice of Donald Sutherland.

"You called for me president, uh. . ."

"President Snow."

"Right, you. . . wait, Snow?"

"Yes."

"This is the 4674th Hunger Games, how are you still president?"

"Poison," Snow answers with a twisted smile and a cackle that's cut off by a disturbingly bloody cough.

"Yeah, but like. . . how are you alive?"

"Cardio, a healthy diet, and a gallon of rose perfume every day to mask the stench of the blood of my enemies."

"Oh, that makes. . . wait, blood of your enemies?"

Snow frowns, and Lux is suddenly aware of just how sharp two of the president's teeth are. "I think we should move onto the matter at hand."

"I agree," Lux quickly agrees, suddenly unable to ignore the extremely strong smell of bloody roses.

"I hear that you entire budget was used up in last year's Games, is this correct?"

"Uh, not our entire budget?"

"Oh, so you won't be needing any more funds in order to set up the quell?" Snow asked, and Lux could swear that the room suddenly smelled of dish-detergent wrapped into tasty plastic wrapping.

"Nope, none at all!"

"So you have everything you need?"

"Yup, everything we need is in the Gamemaker room, right now."

"Really?"

"Totally."

"Well then, I'm sure you have a job to do," Snow smiled, those two teeth suddenly looking even sharper than before.

"Oh yeah, I do, I should go work on that arena that will fit the quell twist. . . the one that you announced. . . ." Lux trailed off, looking awkwardly at the president.

"Yes, I'm sure you should."

"Yup, that quell twist, I uh, totally got that under contro-"

"Head Gamemaker Lux, it is your job to know the quell twist, so surely I don't have to remind you of it."

"Of course not," Lux laughs, in much the similar way as a man who fears he is going to be force-fed tide pods if he does not laugh would laugh.

"Good, then I'll leave that up to you."

So with that Lux left, determined to save himself from his fate of death by tide pods, setting of a series of events that one New York critic stated to be "what the hell is a quell?" while another Washington Post reporter described it more aptly as "who the hell is this man? Somebody call security." But regardless of how critics, judges, or my cell mate may describe this story, in the end there is no one word to correctly summarize this story. There is in fact 73 words that summarize this story, and they go as followed:

Due to an accounting error the Gamemaking team used up their entire budget on the 4674th Games. But the show must go on and now the team has to put together a quell with just a couple dozen blindfolds, a baton, a 50-year-old street performer, 100 dollars worth of couch cushion and ashtray pennies, twenty gallons of rose-scented perfume, and a CD of 'Careless Whisper' by George Michael. This is the Budget Quell.

But there is more to this story than just that short summary, otherwise this story would only be 73 words and would be in that case easy to summarize in one single word, that word being: bad. In this epic you will be dazzled by the ingenuity of the Gamemaking team, confused by the obscure references made by an un-creative author, and brought to tears by the tales of love so horribly cringe-inducing that the only reasonable reaction is to weep in horror at the poor choices that led you to read this tale. While there are many things this story will undoubtedly do to you, and I could attempt to list them out for you now, the only way to truly experience the horrors and sadness that awaits is to read on.

So because of that, I will beg of you now to close the tab, go back to browsing other stories, and submit your well thought out characters to another story. One that does not involve a romantically uninspiring Head Gamemaker with an oddly familiar name, one that absolutely does not tolerate the sponsorship of tide pods and nerf bazookas to the poor characters, and most certainly one that does not contain a tribute named Insert Self.

I plead with you to please not click on the profile link that will lead you to a world of horrors in which you will read a set of rules, copy and paste a submission form, and send your unfortunate characters in a PM aptly titled "Careless Whisper Tribute."

 _With great displeasure,_

 _~The Narrator_


	2. District One: That's Hot

**Paris Hilton, 37?, that's hot**

Paris Hilton is, according to Wikipedia, an American television personality, socialite, business woman, model, and singer. She is, according to most other people, famous for being famous. This, of course, is what one would call a paradox, because if someone is famous for being famous, that means they are famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous duck for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous for being famous.

Now you can see why this is problematic. So for now, we will stick to the Wikipedia explanation for Paris Hilton's fame, and avoid destroying the universe as we know it through an infinite feedback loop. Instead, we will take a look into the life of the woman herself, who has inexplicably appeared in District One, nearly 5000 years after her birth yet still 37 years young.

Paris was in her mansion that she would describe as "hot" and that this narrator would describe as "quite moderate in temperature, perhaps even a bit cool to be frank," and she was indulging in her favorite pastime: staring at mirrors. While doing this task she had her purse slung over her shoulder, a poodle she had named "Sparkles" trapped in its leathery grasp. The poodle let out a yap, which Paris assumed meant the dog wanted to go outside, but in reality roughly translated to "My name is Isadora, not Sparkles you talentless skank."

Regardless of whether or not this statement was true, Paris most certainly did not possess the talent of communicating with poodles, and so continued on her mission of getting her dog some fresh air on her carefully trimmed lawn. While walking outside, her poodle viciously throwing insults at her and any other dog unfortunate to cross Isadora's path, Paris thought of her life. She thought of her old friend Kim Kardashian, who for reasons this narrator refuses to research, is no longer a friend of her's. She also thought of her other celebrity friends, the names of which have been lost under the weight of time and a lazy author.

While walking her dog, she came across a poor blind girl on the street, her stomach indented at an awkward angle that Paris Hilton would describe as "not hot" and this narrator would describe as "likely a result of poor access to food stemming from a systemic problem of wealth inequality in this post-apocalyptic dystopian world." Nonetheless, while Paris Hilton was not a very intelligent woman, or a very talented one, or at her ripe age of five-thousand, a youthful one, she was not necessarily a mean spirited woman.

So when Paris Hilton came across this poor starving child, she placed a hand over her heart, and in a gesture that one could under a very specific set of circumstances refer to as kind, gave her poodle to this young girl. "Here you go darling," she choked out, wiping a tear from her eye. "make yourself a nice supper."

Now, it must be stated that in Paris Hilton's confused sense of morality, she meant to have this blind girl make her way to a market and somehow sell a quite mean-spirited poodle without having any way to actually know that the animal she had been gifted was a quite valuable pure-bred dog. She would then make her way to another market where she would exchange her money for a meal that she would then enjoy.

However, Paris failed to remember two things, the first of which being that she had thousands of dollars of cash in that same purse she had lifted her poodle from, that the starving child would have been more likely to be grateful of. The second of which was perhaps the more disturbing of the two mistakes, with this one being that the poor blind girl in front of her was _extremely_ hungry, and when handed an animal which she assumed was dead due to both the words that Paris had spoken to her and due to the fearful dog freezing in terror, thought of only one logical reaction. After all, when you hand a starving beggar an apple, it would be quite unsurprising to see the person bite into it, piercing the skin and enjoying the juicy insides that the fruit has to offer.

In order to keep this story firmly within the T rating, I will allow you to imagine what happened next to the poor dog that would have been named more aptly not as Sparkles, nor as Isadora, but perhaps as "Apple." I will also allow you dear readers to imagine the shock that poor Paris Hilton underwent when she saw her beloved dog that she often referred to as "a hot dog" turn into "a hot dog."

Some say that the trauma of this incident is what caused her to be an incomprehensible mess throughout the course of the Games in the coming weeks. These rumors are of course completely false, though Paris Hilton did sport a nasty bruise on the back of her head from when her head hit the pavement after passing out in shock, and the trauma of waking up in the morning to the realization that she had bruised her face (nevermind that the back of the head is most definitely not a part of the face) caused her to weep uncontrollably, and continue to be just as much of an incomprehensible mess as she had been before the incident.

 **Mary-Sue, 12, favorite color is rainbow**

Mary Sue is a name you hear quite often if fan fiction is a hobby of yours. The term "Mary Sue" comes from the name of a character created by Paula Smith in 1973 for her parody story "A Trekkie's Tale" published in her fanzine Menagerie #2. The story starred Lieutenant Mary Sue ("the youngest Lieutenant in the fleet — only fifteen and a half years old"), and satirized unrealistic characters in Star Trek fan fiction. Mary Sue has since taken on the meaning of a character (usually in fan fiction) who is unrealistically perfect, with no flaws, or only having flaws which are not really flaws at all.

Mary Sue, however, is not to be mistaken with Mary-Sue, who is a character in a fan fiction whom could be aptly summarized as a Mary Sue. But while Mary-Sue is most certainly a Mary Sue, she is not Mary Sue, because Mary Sue is not a person but a character archetype, and while Mary-Sue is a Mary Sue and a character, Mary-Sue is not Mary Sue.

Mary-Sue was only 12 years old, yet she was quite remarkable. She was skinny yet curvy, dainty yet strong, and could lift 200 pounds yet had as much muscle as a dorky kid from Nine living in an orphanage who passed his time performing unimpressive magic tricks. She was so stunning that people who stared at Mary-Sue for longer than one minute were known to pass out in a way eerily similar to the way that Paris Hilton did just three paragraphs ago.

In fact, Mary-Sue only had one weakness, and this weakness was that one of her eyes was blue and the other was green. She was, for reasons this narrator nor anybody else with eyes can answer, relentlessly bullied for both this fact and for her hair, which was platinum blonde, shone in the sunlight, and hung down to her ankles, miraculously never tripping her and seeming to have a protective shield that blocked any dirt from getting into it. This shield was so powerful in fact, that it will be the second most powerful shield we will see in this story, only plot armor being more unbreakable.

Mary-Sue, despite being flawless in every reasonable manor, also had a tragic past. Her parents were both murdered fighting for freedom in revolution, the American Revolution of 1776 to be specific. At five years old she was taken in by her evil step-mother, and a year later ran off to live in an abandoned mansion, the same mansion that she is in when we peer into her life now.

While one would be tempted to pinpoint Mary-Sue's main weakness as her mismatched eyes, or her comically long hair, in reality her most glaring weakness was just how _bland_ her life was. Mary-Sue was sitting at her kitchen table, sipping from the most delicious cup of hot chocolate ever created as she thought about her dead parents, wishing that she was not an orphan. You may be wondering why I've brought you into such a dull moment of this girl's life, and the answer is that quite frankly, this action is one of the only things that Mary-Sue ever did. So in order to not bore my dear readers with such sad and dully repetitive thoughts, we will fast forward, to the day that Mary-Sue finally had something of note happen to her.

The reaping of this years Hunger Games, the year of which this narrator has quite honestly forgotten, was a spectacle to behold. There was no budget space available to hire an escort, nor was there even enough spare change to obtain paper slips with the names of the district's children. Instead, all people who Peacekeepers thought looked vaguely like they were aged twelve through eighteen were shuffled into a packed square, where a Gamemaker oddly obsessed with kittens and boy bands awkwardly scratched the back of her neck.

After a few minutes of awkwardly standing, unable to afford a chair to sit in, she decided they had enough potential tributes, and without a mic to speak into, yelled out into the crowd in a painfully quiet voice.

"Greetings District One! I am Gamemaker Angel Markianas, and I am happy to be here today to announce the tributes for the. . . uh, Annual Hunger Games of an indeterminate but incredibly high year!"

Gamemaker Angel suddenly became aware of the lack of slips that their budget could afford, and while she tried to figure out what to do, a rabid, blind, 12 year old girl who was suffering from some combination of food poisoning, PTSD, and mad poodle disease, aimlessly wandered onto the stage, blood staining her teeth and mouth and a soulless gaze in her eyes.

"Oh, uh, hello little girl," Gamemaker Angel awkwardly greeted, scratching the back of her neck. "Do, uh, you wanna be a tribute?"

The girl gave no response except to twitch her head violently to the side.

"Great! That works-"

"Wait!" A voice suddenly called out from the crowd, and a shining angelic light seemed to shine down on a familiar young girl as she stepped away through the crowd, the children around her parting in much the same way as the red sea most likely did when it was parted by Moses- extremely slowly. When Mary-Sue did make her way out of the crowd, however, she ran up to the poor blind girl, hugging her so tightly that the girl fractured her entire rib cage.

Mary-Sue did not realize this though, and with a single brave tear, let go of the blind girl, who crumpled to the ground in a state of pain so intense it can only be accurately described in one word: painful.

"A volunteer! Great! Anybody else feeling brave?" This was an odd question to ask, because indeed many people in that crowd did feel brave, but none of those brave people decided that volunteering to go into a game with a girl capable of accidentally snapping rib cages was a smart choice to make for the health of their own rib cages.

"My name is Mary-Sue, and I promise that I will come home to you District One!" Mary-Sue suddenly exclaimed, a speech which inspired little confidence and even littler enthusiasm in the hearts of her district.

"Lovely dear, so, uh. . ." Angel scanned the crowd for a minute before suddenly spotting a woman comically older than the other 12 year old girls surrounding her. "You! You get to be our other tribute! How does that sound?"

"That's hot."

"It. . . sure is!" Angel laughed, glad to see the reapings were going better than she expected. She did not, in this moment of relief, notice that she had somehow ended up with two female tributes, though she did suddenly remember another pressing issue that she faced. "Oh, and as, uh, part of the challenge for these quells there will be no train ride to the Capitol, and you're going to have to hike there instead!"

"That wasn't the quell twist!" Someone from the crowd yelled out, though nobody else seemed to very much care.

"I'll make my district proud!" Mary-Sue proclaimed, running off into the distance while Paris Hilton just picked at her fingernails.

"Uh, hikes are totally not hot." This statement, as anyone who has ever been on a hike before could tell you, is quite false. Hikes, particularly those done in the sweltering heat of summer, are extremely hot. Angel also disagreed with this statement, though for different reasons.

"Well, that's uh, the twist, so, you know, can't really-"

"I'm gonna drive my Bentley," Paris Hilton said, pulling out a pair of keys.

"That's. . . reasonable, actually. Could, uh. . . could you actually give me a ride to District Two? I could only really afford a one-way ticket here and I wasn't actually sure how I was going to get there."

"Sure! It'll be like, a road trip!"

"Rad."

And indeed it was a road trip. A road trip that we will be covering extensively over the next 10 chapters which will undoubtedly begin to get old before the halfway mark. A road trip in which Angel would on multiple occasions offer chocolate milk to Paris Hilton's dog who looked deceptively similar to a cat. It would be a road trip filled with little laughter, few tears, and next to nothing of notable occasion. It would be a road trip in which even more shockingly un-creative characters would be written with shockingly poor writing, culminating in a not so shockingly terrible story.

In the unlikely case that neither my previous warning nor this horrific, terrifying, absurdly boring chapter were able to convince you to better spend your time elsewhere, I will attempt to persuade you once again. In the next 10 chapters we will see enchantimals, washed up actors, a slice of bread, fictional characters from fandoms much more popular than Hunger Games, an odd amount of tributes born in the 1700s, and even entire bands get entire chapters devoted to their unfortunate existence. While it is my solemn duty to report the events that will follow over the course of this story, you dear readers have no such obligation, and so I must plead with you once more to please leave this story, and spend your time doing more useful things, such as imagining yourself playing in a semi-competitive squash tournament against the fourteenth best player in Bangladesh.

 _With great regret and infinite apologies,_

 _~The Narrator_


	3. District Two: Awful Alliteration

**Jonathan Garcia, 14, searching for street cred**

Jonathan Garcia had a tragic backstory. Not in the sense that his life was a sad one full of hardships- as it was actually quite comfortable, but rather because in order to research his backstory one must read and analyze the lyrics to the song "Havana." After dedicating a full half hour to carefully breaking down the meaning of this rather repetitive pop song, one then realizes that "Havana" makes no god damn sense, and that they have wasted the last thirty minutes of their life. It is for this reason that Jonathan Garcia's backstory is the most tragic of any of the sad souls you will see in this story.

Haughty, yet servile. Angry, yet asexual. These are not the words that Jonathan Garcia would describe himself with. Instead, Jonathan Garcia, a boy who looked less like a gangster and more like Finn Wolfhard, would most likely use the word "dope," a word which is primarily defined as "a drug taken illegally for recreational purposes, especially marijuana or heroin" and secondarily defined as "a stupid person."

"Hey, you calling me stupid bro?" Jonathan asked to a wall, seemingly speaking to nobody in particular.

"Hey, I'm talking to you, bro, you wanna go?"

Jonathan most certainly did not want to "go" with anyone, unless "go" in this context meant to sob to himself as he eats the pages out of a book in order to satisfy his mild attraction to plants.

". . . hey, I, uh-"

But now deciding he was done talking at a wall, Jonathan went about his normal day.

"Six!" Jonathan suddenly exclaims, seemingly to no one in particular yet again. "That's, uh, that's a Gossamer Wormwood quote! Chapter 20, line 6! It's actually just the seventh word he says, would've been really funny if it was his sixth. . . ."

Jonathan continued to trail on for quite some time about numbers, Gossamer, and tide pods- but for the vast majority of people, memorizing the entire history of a fictional character within a fictional story withing a fictional story is not a daily activity, and so instead we will move forward to a more normal activity that Jonathan also partook in- training.

Training for the Hunger Games was Jonathan's fourth favorite hobby, only falling behind quoting random Gossamer Wormwood lines for his family and nonexistent friends, as well as his aforementioned attraction to plants that he satisfies through eating pages of any book he can find that does not contain Gossamer Wormwood quotes on it, and lastly there is his favorite hobby: writing fanfiction stories so bad they would make a reader of Careless Whisper believe themselves to be reading high literature on the level of Gossamer Wormwood's book of adventures.

Jonathan trained not for glory, nor honor, nor for "massive gains bruh," but rather for the ability to tell his nonexistent friends that he got "massive gains bruh," despite the fact that out of our characters we've so far met it's questionable whether or not Jonathan would top even Sparkles. So when Jonathan sat in the otherwise empty training room for 2 hours listening to Humble by Kendrick Lamar on loop, one would hesitate to call him a Career, in much the same way one would hesitate to call a 14 year old boy who is a self-identified Belieber and Swiftie a gangster.

 **Athena da Vinci, 70, way too old for this shit**

It is no secret that writing Reapings are quite boring. Writing sarcastic and witty introductory paragraphs for tributes is even more tiring, and is an activity certain narrators get bored of quite quickly. So instead of dulling my poor, savage readers who have somehow managed to sit through an excruciating walkthrough of the day to day activities of a Belieber gangster Gossamer stan who is far too aware of his status as a fictional character within a fictional story within a fictional story within a possibly fictional reality, I will offer my dear readers with an alternative.

Rather than read through another terribly tragic, awfully alliterative POV of a tribute that is so horrifying that it leaves you wishing to gouge your eyeballs out with rusted plastic spoons, and forcing me to weep myself to sleep tonight after hours exhaustively researching the sorry life of this grandmotherly woman, I will instead just allow you, dear readers, to use a tool even more powerful than words: imagination.

 _Name: Athena da Vinci_

 _Gender: Female_

 _District: 3_

 _Age: 70_

 _Appearance: Average height and weight, curly white hair, pale wrinkled skin, light blue eyes. She always has a warm smile and uses a cane to get around._

 _Personality: Think "kind old grandmother" and multiply it by ten. She's always ready with a warm batch of cookies and a story to tell, and loves enchanting little ones with outrageous tales and outlandish inventions. She's famous for being able to construct an elaborate toy out of literally anything. She loves kids and would do anything for them._

 _Backstory: She's officially retired, but spends her time volunteering at the orphanage entertaining and tutoring the youngsters._

 _Family/Friends: She doesn't have any family of her own, but she considers all of the orphans her family. And a good number of children who aren't orphans. And their families. So by this point, she's the wise, friendly old grandmother to pretty much the entire district._

 _Reaped/Volunteered: Volunteered_

 _Reaction/Reason: One of the orphans was reaped, and she managed to convince the escort that, because it was a Quell, *anyone* is allowed to volunteer._

 _Trivia/Fun facts: She's ambidextrous. And she can write with her feet. So … quadridexterous?_

 _Anything Else: She would ally with absolutely *anyone*. The more, the merrier._

. . . .

After the merrily miraculous, zanily zamboni story that was just finished, I'm sure that my dear readers are cautiously curiositing what will come next in this serendipitous story written my a dictionariless dolt.

Angel Markianas arrived to the reaping late, while Paris Hilton insisted she had taken a shortcut. Paris Hilton attempted to park her Bentley on the stage, but much to her dismal dismay the tired tires did not cwickly climb the stairs, and instead drove straight through them and left behind a path of destruction which left the mayor and only living victors dead.

Angel Markianas cared little for this, however, quickly hopping out and hustling to the stage, pointing at the first boy she saw and screaming, "you, skinny white boy!"

"Uh, shit, I, uh, I volunteer!" Jonathan Garcia confidently called out to the cwhyit crowd.

This was of course, an odd move to make, considering Jonathan Garcia had already been reaped, but Jonathan Garcia thought that veraciously volunteering would make him seem ludicrously legit, when in real reality all it did was make every everybody think he was legit ludicrous.

Angel Markianas didn't care about this either though at this point, just wanting to get her tributes into the Capitol by tomorrow morning, when the Games were officially scheduled to start.

The narrator thought momentarily of going on to describe the volunteering process of Athena da Vinci, before realizing that all that information had been given to his readers just moments ago and that if they were really that curious they could go read the form instead of being a lazy bum.

"Wow, that was a crazy volunteering process, I'm sure glad I didn't miss that!" Angel exclaimed, her moods being lifted slightly through the realization that she had both a male and female tribute this time around, not paying any mind to the fact that one of her tributes was seventy years old. "How did you even convince the escort to let you do that when we can't even afford any? Man, that was wild."

"Aren't you gonna like, you know, hype us up for the crowd, I gotta uphold my rep." Jonathan Garcia grandiosely grammered.

"Yeah, sure, I give to you your District Two trib-"

"This is District Three!" A voice calls out from the crowd.

". . . what?"

"There's literally a District Three banner right behind you."

Angel looked behind her and shrugged, not surprised that Paris Hilton's shortcut was not quite as grandly grandiose as she had promised, while Jonathan Garcia shook his head and laughed. "Naw bruh, y'all are straight fooling. I've lived in District Two my whole life, my parents are even the mayors, ma and pop, tell 'em."

It is an unfortunate event that this narrator sadly forgot while writing this chapter that Jonathan Garcia's parents were mayors, and were meant to follow Jonathan Garcia into the Games and provide many humorous moments, and instead wrote in a meaningless and cheap line that made little sense and even littler laughter that the mayor for this district, which in fact is District Three, was murdered.

It is almost as unfortunate an event as the moment when Jonathan Garcia auditioned for this story, and misread his characters homeplace as being from District Two, leading to much confusion and a trust issue complex that lead to numerous fights in the coming chapters that may or may not ever be written.

But perhaps the most unfortunate event of the evening was the immediate reaction Jonathan Garcia had to the revelation that he was indeed not from District Two, and his parents had both been murdered in a freak car accident involving stairs and an epic scene that cannot be replayed due to a shrinking VFX budget. Jonathan Garcia, letting out a scream akin to that of a shrieking mole rat, wailed his arms in the air, striking Athena da Vinci in the chest, knocking her backwards into the same pit in the stage that held Jonathan's parents, and snapping her neck on the rotted remains.

"Shit," Jonathan Garcia said, quickly turning up to the sky. "Sorry, I, uh, wasn't supposed to do that yet, was I- should I, uh, go down there and like, uh, get her or something?"

Jonathan Garcia did no such thing though, boarding the car with Paris Hilton and Angel Markianas-

"No, I, uh, think I should probably go down there, I mean, my parents are down there too and I kinda wanna say goodbye and-"

And after many more rambunctiously ridiculous courageously cowardly chapters, jaded Jonathan Garcia grew to tremendously terrific lewd levels of orthopedic-

"Dude, what the fuck, she's still alive, I see her breathing, she needs an ambulance or some shit-"

 _Thus continues our story, one of heartache and pain, and untimely and poorly written deaths. It is a story which is rapidly deteriorating in quality, and steadily growing in laziness of writing, to the point that there will most likely not be more than 4 more chapters that get finished. It is not a funny story, nor is it a happy or even sad one. I previously stated that you could not sum this story up in one word, but my mind has been changed, as this story can now quite easily be summarized by any number of single words, such as garbage, terrible, atrocious, disgusting, worthless, and bad._

 _I must only assume that after this chapter, no warning is needed for my dear readers who have had the brevity to bravely read through this story, as any sad soul who has managed to make it this far must be a masochist, and therefore must get much thrill from the pain and suffering reading this awfully alliterative authorial account atrociously allocates._

 _With woeful worry,_

 _~The Narrator_


	4. A Word From Our Sponsors

It is an oft-overlooked topic in fiction that money has to come from somewhere. Governments get their money from taxes, Gamemakers get their money from government funding, Lux Hastings gets money from his couch cushions, and poor college students get their money from sponsorship deals. It is a common saying that "money makes the world go round." This is of course false, as the earth goes round not due to paper currency, but due to the ball of liquid iron at its center that spins at its axis without any resistant force, and thus never slows down via Newton's first law of motion.

Money however does cause many men and women to do things they would otherwise never have any reason to. Teachers put up with insufferable children for hours on end because of money, hit-men kill because of money, and senseless authors who were sued for copyright infringement need money to continue telling their horrible tale of woe and misfortune.

 **THIS SUNDAY** _(sunday. . . sunday. . . sunday)_

 **IN JUST MINUTES** _(minutes. . . minutes. . . minutes)_

 **PREPARE TO BE AMAZED** _(amazed. . . amazed. . . amazed?)_

 **AND BATTERED** _(battered. . . not really battered. . . that's a bit extreme)_

 **AND BEATEN SENSELESS** _(really. . . this is a bit extreme. . . isn't it just a story?)_

 **BY THE GRAND REVEAL OF THE SYOT OF THE SUMMER** _(I mean. . . it hasn't even come out yet. . . a bit early to claim that)_

 **-REDACTED-!** _(it comes out in 15 minutes. . . literally like 3 people don't know the title yet. . . can't we just say the title?. . . Lauren?)_

 **ARE YOU SICK AND TIRED OF BEING HAPPY? DOES JOY MAKE YOU SICK? ARE YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES KICKING PUPPIES SENSELESS, STEALING CANDY FROM CHILDREN, AND MANIACALLY TWIRLING THE MUSTACHE'S OF OTHERS? THEN THIS WILL BE THE STORY FOR YOU!**

 **FEATURING TRIBUTES SUCH AS -REDACTED- AND -REDACTED- AND SET IN -REDACTED- WITH THE AMAZINGLY UNIQUE QUELL TWIST OF -REDACTED-!**

 **AREEEEE YOUUUUU READDDDYYYYY TO RUMBLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE?** _(no)_

 **WHEN ASKED TO DESCRIBE YOU IN JUST A FEW WORDS, WILL OTHERS OFTEN USE WORDS SUCH AS: "MASOCHISTIC", "PSYCHOPATH", "SADISTIC", "SENSELESS", OR "YOU SICK FUCK"?** _(actually, yeah)_

 **THEN TAKE YOUR TRIBUTES THAT YOU'VE CAREFULLY CRAFTED FOR THIS STORY, WITHDRAW THEM, AND SUBMIT THEM TO THE TRUE SYOT OF THE SUMMER: -REDACTED-** _(hey, that's. . . I'm okay with that actually)_

 _~this has been a word from our sponsors: TheEngineeringGames. David12341 is in no way affiliated with TheEngineeringGames or it's product of angst, sadness, or senseless violence. David12341 is in no way being compensated for this senseless advertisement which has not even provided a link to the story in question. If you or a loved one has been diagnosed with Mesothelioma you may to be entitled to financial compensation. Mesothelioma is a rare cancer linked to asbestos exposure. Exposure to asbestos in the Navy, shipyards, mills, heating, construction or the automotive industries may put you at risk. Please don't wait, call 1-800-99 LAW USA today for a free legal consultation and financial information packet. Mesothelioma patients call now! 1-800-99 LAW USA~_

 **SIXTH QUARTER QUELL BY ENGINEERING GAMES: SUBMIT NOW!**

 _With wealth and shame,_

 _~The Narrator_


	5. District Four: Unsurprising Surprises

**Big Time Rush, 20, turn that thing big time**

ah ah, oh ohh opportunities like this come Once in a lifetime, and when They do, you gotta grab it and Turn that thing big time. Turn it, and I predict a 90% Chance of bodily harm, and I'm Talking about us, not them. Wimp. Huhh! It's stuck. I had my pop star dream again Last night. This time, I was Wearing my lucky white v-neck, And I sang a smokey robinson Song. tracks of my tears, Ey, ey What are we doing? A janitor left the t-bar In the sprinkler valve, and do You wanna help us soak the girls Field hockey team? Yeah. I gotta get new friends. And now we run. Whoa! Whoo! Whoo! This is what it's gonna be Like when I'm famous. Only, The girls won't be trying To kill me. Uhh. Go, go, go, go! Aah! Aah! Whoa. Timeout! Give james the helmet. We gotta protect the face. Right. I love you guys. Time in. Where am I, and why Am I freezing? You're in minnesota. What's up, minnesota?! I hate all of them. Yes, I know. And the state for freezing My latte. Also, I need A bigger coat. It's our last stop, so just Focus and try not to make Everybody cry. Somewhere here is Your next big star. I can feel it. I'm the star! What I need is A canvas with great hair that I can paint my pomp on. I need A singing block of wood that I can set on fire, so please Tell me, where in, uh... minnesota. Where in minnesota is My fire?! Ow. Pussycat dolls make the pain Go away. Yes. I love them. I'm gonna marry her someday. You're gonna marry Nicole scherzinger? How? No, no, no, no! I'm gonna be famous, Sing to sold-out arenas, Have, like, 5 houses, * make the girls go crazy * And then marry nicole. Are you done? Please be done. No, 'cause here's the part Where I shake the booty. I'm gonna be famous, Gonna marry nicole carlos. Got it. Uhh! Do you wanna be a pop star? Yes. Well, today's your chance If you're in minnesota. Are you ready? I'm in minnesota. I'm gonna be the next Gwen stefani! That's jenny tinkler From homeroom. Gustavo rocque, nineties Mega-producer of bands like Boyquake, boyz in the attic, and Boyzcity is lookin' for his next Pop superstar, but he's even More famous for his quote in "rolling stone," when he said... I better than a dog. Then it's pop star I sing better than a dog. Sign-ups are until 5 pm, So if pop star is on... Your list of things to do... call all moms now. You still have time. I'm sway... mom, call me when You get this message. We need A ride real bad. Ring! I got it. Hello. Yeah. Uh-huh. Ok, great. Get here As fast as you can. Your mom's coming! No, but this nice lady's Sending her crew over to give us A free estimate On aluminum siding. Aah! Kendall! Logan has a learner's permit. But I need an adult In the car with me and a car. Kendall, do something. What are you lookin' at me For? Logan's the genius. What... I panic under pressure, And then you always come up with The answer. What? That is so not true, And... I know how to get there. All you have to do is sit In the car. Logan'll drive, And we'll shovel your walkway For free all winter long. Come on. Faster. Faster! Faster! Do you have her purse? Uh, purse. Do you have her purse? Uh, purse. What about her cane? It'll be fine. We can't be late. I don't wanna break her! and I'm So in love with you your singing makes me wanna Dance. Off of a cliff! Next! thunder next! I love life More than anyone, Doo doo doo get off the stage! No! No... next! That's actually the best Singing we've heard all day. Next! waah ohh aah ohh I do ahh have listen here, sister. That's the worst singing I've Ever heard in my life! You know these people have Feelings, right? Oh, neat. Guess what I have. 29 platinum records! I don't Need feelings. What I need is The guy the record company paid Me a million dollars to find to Make my fire. And if you and I Do not find him or her, We're fired! Keep walking! Don't stop at the microphone! Just keep walking! And good-bye. Don't worry. Sign-ups are Until 5:00, and it's One minute till 5:00. Baaaah! Get out! Get out! Get out! Come on! Oh, my god! Hurry up! Go! Go! Go! Come on! My name is james diamond, And I... I wanna be famous. whoa, oh... ow! Fill out the rest of this Sheet and wait for your number To be called. Did you get in? Yes! I told you. This is madness! I'm a star! I'm gonna be the next Gwen stefani! Oh, hey, guys. Hey, jenny. He's evil. I'm a star! A star! You, name. Me? Mm-hmm. Oh, no, thank you. I'm gonna be a doctor. Yeah, well, I'm a desperate Talent scout, and you have A cute smile, and justin Timberlake made $44 million Dollars last year. Hit me. I wanna be famous, too. whoa, oh yes. You, tall, blond, And eyebrows, you want your Dreams to come true today? Sorry. My dream is to play Center for the minnesota wild, But I'll also consider The maple leafs. Ah. 810 is next. Oh, look. You're next. Dude, you don't sing. Carlos, that was the worst Pep talk in history. Luckily I'm A genius. I'll think Of something. Kendall. Beat box. Got it. wakka-chicka, wakka-chicka, Wakka-chicka stop! Stop it forever. Uh, I just started. And now you're finished, But I'm not, because I wanna Tell you what else you are! Get back here! I have bad words, And I wanna use them on you! I wanna make fun of you... don't go in there. He... he... he's satan. He's satan With bug-eyed sunglasses. 811. 811's up. All you, buddy. Go get 'em. Yeah. Yeah. hoo, Hoo, Hoo * hu-ehh! No! Not goin' to hollywood. 812. 812's up. James this is your dream, Not mine. Remember, Opportunities like this come Once in a lifetime. Now grab on To that dream with both hands And go big time. Well, he's not hideous. people say I'm the life Of the party because I tell a joke or two * not bad. although I might be Laughin' loud and hearty, Deep inside, I know... * stop. Stop. I'm sorry. I got a l... A little nervous there. Can I start over? Oh, yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Start over. Why don't you, uh, Go outside and then just don't Come back in. Ok? Next! But I'm good. I don't need good. I need The fire, ok? I need someone to Knock me out of my seat, and as You can tell, I'm still in it, Because you have no talent! No talent?! No talent?! You're the one with no talent. You haven't had a hit In 10 years. Hey, "girl to my heart" by Boyquake was a hit 9 years ago. Oh, "girl to my heart. " let Me see if I can remember that Rock classic. * girl, my eyes, And, girl, my mind, It never stops after it starts, 'cause you're a girl, A girl, a girl to my Heart, heart, heart * whoa! Whoa! Security! Hey, here's a new hit for You. * oh, you're such a turd, Oh, yeah, a giant turd, And you look like a turd, And you smell like a turd * Hey, get off me. Come on. Get off me. Quick. What's the worst that Could happen if I try and break Him free? Uh, j-juvenile, one prior For mooning. 20 hours Community service. I can live with that. Oh. Aah! Yeah, how do you Like that, fluffy?! Aah! I gotta get new friends. Get off of me! Mom, remember that time I saved you from choking? Wow, That was close. And I love you. I feel so alive. Dude, how did you know Those songs? They play boyquake on the Nineties channel all day At work, and I made up The giant turd song. That was catchy. What happened? The truth. Now. Mrs. Majkowski helped us try To make james famous. But this producer guy was Super mean to everyone. So I sang him the giant turd Song, and there was a tiny Fight, but nobody got hurt. And now I'm really sad. Ok. Who want's a sandwich? Ooh, yes. That'd be great. Wait. That's it? That's your Interrogation? You didn't put The screws to 'em or slap 'em With the hard cheese. I don't know what you're Talking about, but you are not Allowed to watch fox anymore. Well, can I least Hear the giant turd song? oh, you're such a turd oh, yeah, a giant turd and you look like a turd, And you smell like a turd And you smell like a turd * And you smell like a turd * oh, you're such a turd, Oh, yeah, a giant turd, And you look like a turd... * Aah! Yes! I knew you'd come back For me. I'm not here for you. I'm here for him. I'm here for him. What? I'll make some tea. Mrs. Knight, I wanna take Your family to los angeles And produce some demo tracks With kendall. You can't be serious. It'll take 3 months. We'll take care of all Of your expenses. Kendall, you have a gift. You have the fire. You also have Anger management issues. Some people say I have anger Management issues, but I also Have 5 houses! people say I'm the life Of the party, becau... stop it. Ok. Please. Don't ever Do that again. Yeah. Thank you. Kendall, we've traveled to 22 cities. We've auditioned over 20,000 people, and gustavo's Picked you. But I'm not a singer. You sing all the time... in the Car, at the table. You sing to Me when I can't sleep at night. No, I don't. Yes, you do, honey. When you shovel the driveway. When you answered the door 2 minutes ago. But that's not singing. Yes, it is, honey. And he's always singing along To the nineties channel. Katie! So, what do you say, kiddo, Huh? You wanna go out to l.A. And be molded and shaped Into a big old star by The gustavo rocque? Ha ha. No. Ha ha ha ha ha! I'm gonna need to take A minute. I'm gonna need to take A minute right now. It's for the teacup. I'm gonna destroy this state! And the planter Outside. This state owes me a latte! Here's my card. If you change Your mind, call. You shouldout. Idiot. Night on this whole singing Thing, and katie was right. You're an idiot. It's breaking right. Guys, I don't wanna go To l. A. With that jerk. I wanna Be here with you jerks and play Hockey for our team. But this is just like hockey. Only, instead of crashing The boards andus You're singing and dancing. What have you got to lose? Dude, california... the girls, The beach, the stars. The girls. Yeah, but none of that Matters if it's minus my best Friends. Add those numbers up, Professor. Ok, carry the 2. Ah, nope. Still an idiot. What about you? You haven't Said anything to me all day. I'm not talkin' to you. You just did. You know what? All right, Dude, part of me hates you right Now. No, all of me hates you. But call that guy back. That guy said you have No talent, made you cry, And broke my mom's teacup. But he wants to make You famous. Uhh! Sorry. Ok, if I make a hole in one, You have to call that guy back. Wha-hoo! Whaah! Ooh. Ooh. You should still ooh. Ooh. You should still Call him. He's been on the cover Of "rolling stone." what other odd things do you Carry in your pockets? My lucky comb and 8x10 Personalized head shots... One boy next door, one bad boy. We just want what's best For you, man. I'm logan. Oh. You. Oh. You. He got hit by a car for you. Yeah, opportunities like this Come once in a lifetime. Now let me get this straight. You're saying if you all had A chance to go to l.A. With A giant turd producer to record Demos, you'd go. Yes. Sorry. Kelly wainwright, Rocque records. Don't think about him. Think millions of dollars. Think millions of girls. Think of me as the backup Singer who could spin off in his Own solo career, you know, After your second album. Well? Ok, I'll go to l.A. With you And record some demos if... You take my buds and make us A singing group. Dude! Cold up my nose. Cold up my nose. Well, you guys said You would go. I-I'm sorry. Are you trying To make a deal with me? I make the deals. If you want me, you have to Take all of us. Have you even heard your friends Sing? Oh, that's right. They can't. Well, I'm no mega-producer Like you, but I know they sing Better than dogs, and you can Turn them into stars. Right? Is this supposed to sway me? I'm gustavo rocque. I'm amazing. I'm amazing. And if you think For one second that I'm so Desperate because of 2 or 22 Cities that I haven't been able To find anybody, you can think Again, because there is no way, No way gustavo rocque is takin' The 4 dogs from minnesota to Los angeles to make them stars. It's never gonna happen. Never! So, we have a deal. Yep. do you want to Ride in a big limousine? Tell me do you want to Take a little bite Of the fame machine? * you wanna be famous famous you wanna be the one Who's takin' a free ride welcome to the palm woods, Home of the future famous. That's the first palm tree I've ever touched. Every year, kids and parents From all over the world come Here looking for fame in tv, Movies, and music. Oh, hey. There's that funny Kid from the juice box Commercials. I just want my Childhood back! Tyler, let's go. Ok. You guys are gonna love it here. The rooms are clean, You're close to the studio, And there is an amazing pool. I love pools. doo doo, doo doo, Doo doo, doo doo we're so not in minnesota Anymore. Uh, minnie who now? What can I say? You guys were right. How dare you?! What we had Was real! But you threw it all Away for trish! Trish, my sworn Enemy! I never wanna see you Again, troy! Never! What just happened? You new guys just met Camille, the palm woods Method actress queen. The name's tyler. You may have Seen me acting on various juice Box commercials. Only, I don't Wanna be an actor. I wanna be A kid. Tyler! Oh! Hide me. Have you seen my son? Have you seen my son? Red hair, adorable, born to be A star? We've got an audition! He went that way. She's gone. She's gone. Thanks. So is everyone here an actor? No. That's guitar dude. He's a "songwriter." what's up? what's up? What's up? What's up? * Yeah. Oh, that's lightning, oh, that's lightning, The tv wonder dog. He's good. Oh, and then there's the Jennifers. 3 girls all have The same name, who sing, dance, And act. Hey! We're in a band. We're in a band. Really? Oh, my gosh. And we're actresses Who don't care. Wanna go to the movies Tonight? Are you guys starring In the movie? No. Then no. If that seems harsh, It's because it is, and so is This town, so... Later. I'm so in love. I'm so in love. Ok, reality check. We have to Promise ourselves now that we're Not gonna let this singing thing Or this town change us. We are 4 Hockey players from minnesota, And we can never forget that. Do we all agree? Yes. Once you've sipped from a real Coconut, there's no goin' back. So true. Ok, we do realize there are 3 of them and 4 of us. And they blew us off. No, they said, "later." and it's later. Ok, mom's all checked in, Your sister complained again That she has no friends, so your Mom let her watch "shark cage" On fox, and now it's time To start gustavo's boy-band Boot camp. Kelly, we're a little Busy here. So am I. And they won't go For you until you're famous, So let's roll. Ho ho ho. Kelly, kelly, Clearly you don't understand The power of the... Whew. Ladies... I don't think we Properly introduced... Ourselves. Ok, let's go to boot camp. ah ah, oh ohh ahem. Ahem. Hey, griffin. Hey, I have Been meaning to call you. Yes, and I've been meaning To teach my pet liger sign Language, but I didn't either. I also did not approve of one Million dollars to find a boy Band. The boy band is dead. Show him the research. I have a plan. It's a 3-month Plan. It's gonna blow you away. Change of plan. The rcmcbt Globalnet sanyoid board of Directors meeting is in 4 days, And I need to throw them some Red meat, which means you have Exactly 3 days to serve me A tasty dish. 3 days? You're giving me 3 days. Yes, and I want a look, a Name, and a song that will make 11- to 15-year-olds steal their Parents' credit cards so they Can buy it. This band has to Have it all, gustavo, because as You know, I want it all. Mmm. Warm pants. There's nothing like The feeling of warm pants. Get gustavo some warm pants. Friday, 10 a.M., and they better Be good, or you're finished. No! Welcome to rocque records, Where you are gonna sing, dance, And sweat your butts off if you Wanna end up on these walls. Do we want to end up On these walls? Yes. Guys, say hi to Nicole scherzinger from The pussycat dolls. Whahh. Hey, guys. What's up? He's gonna marry you. Where's my ring? I... I... I... we're recording some demos With gustavo. Gustavo. Yeah. Have you worked With him? Yes, actually on my first Album. Let's just say we had Some creative differences. Nicole, baby! Ohh! Good luck, guys. Sh-sh-sh-she... nicole. All clear. Ok, so you guys Ready to be stars? Yeah. Good. Then prove to me you Can be stars. We have 3 days To prove to this record company That there's something, Anything here. Uh, 3 days? What happened To 3 months? Uh, the ceo of all of our Butts wants to see you guys On Friday. We have to be a band In 3 days? No, you have to be a great Band in 3 days, unless you don't Think that you can do it, Mr. Make us a pop group. Oh, we can do it. No problem. Bring it. Oh, I will bring it. I'll bring everything I got. This is a little too close For me. Yeah, me, too. To be a great pop group, you Need 4 things... great dancing, A great look, a great song, And great singing. ooh, yeah, Take me to the top and by the end of today, me And my team will transform the 4 Dogs from minnesota into gustavo Rocque's new pop explosion. baby, yeah we're the marketing team. We don't really have a move. Well, we could try something. Maybe. Stop it. Stop it now. Thank you. First up in boot Camp, great dancing. Mr. X has choreographed for Boyquake, boyz in the attic, Madonna, beyonce, And "yo gabba gabba." and now I will make you X-plode with the dance. We will start with An x-amination. Cross leg, Spin, pose. Whoa! Ohh. I'm good. He is great, but not serious. He is serious, but not great. He lost a pet when he was young, And he is still sad. Sparky. And he is just plain awful. Yep. Heh. They are x-cruciating and Cannot be ready by Friday. I'll x-double your salary. X-done. All right, I'm gonna be back In one hour, and I wanna see Dancers, not dogs. Starting positions. Again. 5, 6, 7, 8 5, 6, 7, 8 raah! Ok. So it's been an hour, And... What happened to mr. X? What happened to mr. X? Well, first he banged his Head into the wall a few times. Then we got really dizzy. Then he said a bunch of bad Words that started with "x." then he x-quit. Ah... Whaah! Look, sweetie, I know this Move is a big shock, but there Are lots of kids at the palm Woods, and you should play with Them and not chairs. I'm fine, mom. We need to support your Brother and the guys, and... What are you doing? 10 bucks. 10 bucks. Sweetheart, the pool is free. Sweetheart, the pool is free. Not the vip room. It's amazing what chumps in this Town'll pay to sit behind some Stupid velvet ropes. I'm looking for my son. He's short, cute red hair... I saw a kid just like that Running that way. Aah! Thanks, katie. Don't mention it. 10 bucks. So you're good then. I am loving this town, So the guys better not blow it. Part 2 of my great pop-group Boot camp, the great look. When do we sing? When I tell you to sing! Guys, we have some exciting Looks that will literally Transform you. Can't we just be ourselves? No. Boys, we researched and Electroshocked focus groups To determine the exact look and Name that will sell millions Of records. Then we turn you over To the stylists... To change all your clothes and Possibly shave your heads. Now, griffin wants a tasty Dish on Friday. That's why we're Giving him... whoa! Ow! No, not hair. Not hair. Boy-liscious. The beach, girls, The shirtless overalls. I think we look good. Not bad, uh, but I need Options. What else you got? Change it. Red, white & boy. This look does great with War veterans who own buicks. We look good. We look like uncle sam Threw up on us. You, silent. You, more options. Change them. I give you... danger boy. Danger boy is danger. Parents will forbid their kids To buy the dangerous music. And that's exactly why They will. Boo-yah. I, uh, can't feel my legs. That's because the pants are Dangerously tight. I hate it. So do we. I need 5 new looks for Tomorrow. All right, now follow Me to hear your first hit single That's gonna put me back on top. Move out. All right, come on. Ohh. Ohh. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Oh, goin' down. I think we look good. ah ah, oh ohh ok, part 3 of the great Pop-group boot campapalooza, The great song. It's called "girl time." it's a song about no matter it's a song about no matter What time of day it is, * don't you know It's girl time? * I just woke up. What time is it? It's girl time. Excuse me, sir. Do you know what Time it is? Yeah. It's girl time. What if you have a sinus Infection? Isn't that Doctor time? No. No, no, it's still Girl time. Mm, right. Do any of your songs not have The word "girl" in them? Heh. Well, le-let's find out, Mr. Question everything I do. Let's take a look at my wall Of platinum records! Let's see. There's, uh, "girl like you," "girl, you are my girl," "hot Girl," "cold girl," "girl to my Heart," "yard squirrel Christmas... " I forgot that one Was there. Uh, "girl zone," "girl l zone remix," "girl cake" And "girl, girl, girl," Which sold 3 million copies and Was number one for 5 weeks! Any other questions, dog? Are any of those songs From this girl-ennium? And finally, a small downtown Earthquake today has Seismologists baffled. Just a Modest 3.1 on the richter scale, But it's still a mystery, Because the epicenter was not on Any previously known fault line. Ok, your heart rate is back To normal, and your blood Pressure is 120 over 80. You can produce now. Ah! But remember, these boys Haven't had a break all day. I think they're gettin' A little punchy. I don't care. Ok, and now It's time for the final phase Of gustavo rocque's most Awesomest pop-group boot camp, The singing! What is this place? It's a sound booth, guys. It just isolates the vocals In case we need to edit or Enhance them later. Why are there pillows On the floor? Do you want us to nap? 'cause we will. They just absorb any extra Echo or treble, just like those Big foam mike covers. And I put some fruit water In there in case your mouths Get dry, ok? Ok, great. And... Funny. Do it again. Heh. Not so tough without Your helmet, are you? Huaah! Oh! Knock it off. Ohh! You just ruined my lucky White v-neck. Aah! Maybe the fruit water Was a bad idea. Please get them to stop. Guys. Guys. Pillows were a bad idea, too. I told you they were tired. Just have the boys Meet me in the studio When they're finished. You can't sing. You can't sing or dance. I can back-flip. Stop it. Ok. Forever. Mm-hmm. And worst of all, you don't Even seem to want this. What about me? I can sing, Dance, and I want this. You remind me a lot Of matthew mcconaughey. Awesome. I can't stand matthew Mcconaughey. This group Can't sing, can't dance. You don't have a song or a look, And they're covered in feathers! And I would rather quit right Now than commit pop suicide On Friday in front of the record Company. However, there is one Song I would love to play For you. ooh, now that I'm through Bangin' my head, This band of dogs Is officially dead * he's a really good Piano player. And I'm so depressed. It's the music. Guitar dude, please. Oh. Sorry. So has gustavo dork made You guys famous yet? We had some creative Differences. You got fired, didn't you? All he did was yell and Scream at us and make us wear Dangerously tight pants. Yeah, you're right. He wanted To turn us into rich and famous Pop stars. What an idiot! He wanted to turn us into his Trained dancing dogs. Rich and famous dancing dogs. He's got a point. Oh. So you're siding With james now? No. I... maybe. Kinda. Yes. You guys blew it. You blew My shot. You could have tried Harder, but you didn't. Ok. Let's all just calm down And think nice, happy thoughts About kittens. You think about kittens with Your bad singing and that Stupid helmet. Whoa. Guys. Guys. Remember our pact about not Letting this town tear us apart. Whaah! Great. Now we're all Fighting. I didn't even wanna Do this. Everybody with no problem Wants to do this, kendall! I know, but it's all Happening so fast! Whaah! Katie, what'd you Do that for? Looked like you guys Needed to cool off. She's right. I'm sorry. I could stay here and be a Model. I'm still great-looking. Or the star of a reality show. Which one? "Project idiot"? That's just Your jealousy talking. You know what's funny? We didn't even get a chance To sing together. Heh. oh, you're such a turd oh, yeah, a giant turd, And you look like a turd, And you smell like a turd * oh, you're such a turd, Oh, yeah, a giant turd, And you look like a turd, And you smell like a turd, Oh, you're such a turd, Oh, yeah, a giant turd, And you look like a turd, And you * smell like a turd we should do this. You guys Were right. I really think we Should do this. How? We got fired, remember? We didn't get fired. I mean, We got fired, but the problem is We didn't try our best. I tried my best. We know, james. We know. Guitar dude, I need some music, Something inspirational. We are hockey players, brothers We are hockey players, brothers Of the ice, and we do not quit. Now, are we gonna dump the puck And scramble back to the bench, Or are we gonna grab that puck, Pull the goalie, and rush The net big time? You really think we can Make it as a boy band? No, but I've realized 3 things since we got here. 1... I love singing. 2... I love Singing with you guys, And opportunities like this Come once in a lifetime. What's the third thing? It's minus-8 in minnesota Right now, and I'm in love with This pool. So what's the play? Dump the puck or big time rush? Big time rush. Big time rush. Big time rush. Big time rush. Well? Ok, we'll do it your way. No Goofing off, no pillow fights, And no questions for the next 2 days. Ok. "Girl time" from the top. Except for that. We really Don't wanna sing "girl time." oh, let me guess. You have A better idea. Well, let's... Let's hear it. Let's hear The dogs' better song title. "big time rush." it's a song about 4 hockey Players from minnesota who have An amazing opportunity in front Of 'em, and they're gonna take Their best shot. I like it, and you've got To stop using the word "girl" In all of your song titles. I... Like it also. We're gonna Be workin' all night, Because Friday is 2 days away, And we are in a big time rush. Yes. Ok, "big time rush" from the Top. Only, this time, let's try Not to make me wanna choke you. ah ah, oh ohh make it count, Play it straight, Don't look back, Don't hesitate * when you go big time what you want, What you feel, Never quit and make it real when you roll big time oh, ooh whoa hey, hey listen to your heart now hey, hey don't you feel the rush? hey, hey better take your shot now ohh, ohh, Ohh, ohh go and shake it up, What you gotta lose? Go and make your luck With the life you choose, If you want it all, Lay it on the line, It's the only life you got, So you gotta live it big time, Ah ah, oh ohh, Ah ah, oh ohh * step it up, get in gear, Go for broke, make it clear gotta go big time oh, yeah make it work, get it right, Change the world overnight gotta dream big time oh, oh hey, hey give it all you got now hey, hey isn't it a rush? hey, hey finish what you start now ohh, ohh, Ohh, ohh whoa go and shake it up, What you gotta lose? Go and make your luck With the life you choose * life you choose if you want it all, Lay it on the line, It's the only life you got, So you gotta live it big time * I like 'em, and the board's Gonna love 'em. What do you think? You got 3 months to make your Demos. I told you the boy band Was back. I have to go. My pants are cold. Guess who's stayin' in l.A. Whahh! Yes! Yes! Ha ha ha! Stop cheering. If you thought The last 3 days were hard, wait Till you see the next 3 months. Carlos still can't sing, Logan still can't dance, And I still can't stand james. We'll work on it. Ok, now you can celebrate. Yeah!

 **Ocean Shores, 16, is surprisingly not secretly a mermaid**

Ocean Shores was what some would call a hypocrite. Google defines hypocrite as: a person who indulges in hypocrisy. And Ocean Shores most definitely did indulge in hypocrisy every time that she would nag her father about the evils of eating fish while enjoying a freshly cooked hamburger that she made extreme care did not include any trace amounts of seaweed in it.

It may come as no surprise after hearing her name that Ocean Shores did not have very intelligent parents, both of them preferring to lounge around the house and do nearly every indoor activity one can imagine that does not involve reading. Ocean Shores on the other hand quite unsurprisingly spent her time exclusively in the ocean. While in the ocean she indulged in an activity which has been described to this narrator as "dancing with the ocean." This narrator sadly does not understand what that quite means, and as such has extreme difficulty writing about the day to day activities of one Ocean Shores.

So instead of attempting to write out a scene in which a sixteen-year-old girl competes with an inanimate force of nature in a dance off consisting of moves such as the worm and the charlie brown, this narrator shall instead skip ahead.

It was the day of the reaping, and Angela Markianas was just now arriving at District Four with Paris Hilton and Jonathan (LAST NAME), both of whom's district partners were notably absent, Paris' district partner currently en route to the Capitol by foot, while Jonathan's district partner still sat at the bottom of a pit along with his parents, her neck snapped in much the same way as a person who's neck was not snapped was not.

Angela at this point had quite unsurprisingly forgotten that she had never visited District Two, and instead proceeded to District Four in quite timely fashion, this time managing to avoid running over the mayor on her way to the podium.

"Hey District Four!" Angela greeted the crowd in her most convincing surfer accent, which was as convincing as this narrator claiming to have put any effort into the writing of Big Time Rush's introduction. "Your Head Gamemaker Lux Slowings just wants me to tell you all: cowabunga!'

She waited for an applause which unsurprisingly did not come, and then unsurprisingly decided to pick a tribute from the crowd, who was unsurprisingly not actually a single person. Although it has not been touched on yet in this story, it is a well known fact that Angela Markianas is a large fan of the Minnesotan boy band Big Time Rush, most likely even having memorized the entire transcript of the first episode of their television show. So when Angel Markianas saw the boy band who's television show aired thousands of years in the past, all standing in the audience at just twenty years old, she knew who she was going to choose, unsurprisingly not realizing this meant that Big Time Rush would no longer be able to make quality music if they were killed in the Hunger Games. Unsurprisingly, Angel Markianas also did not realize that Big Time Rush would no longer be able to make quality music if they were not killed in the Hunger Games, because Big Time Rush had broken up as a band years prior. Even more Unsurprisingly, Angel Markianas did not realize that Big Time Rush would no longer be able to make quality music because they had never made quality music and were a typical boy band fad that only reached a short moment of popularity due to a quirky and formulaic television show that appealed to teenage girls with dreams of dating one of the members of the show, and relied on the fact that many of them were so hopelessly in love with these boys that they would write fanfiction in which they would enter the Hunger Games with them.

"BIG TIME RUSH OH MY GOD YOU GUYS ARE THE TRIBUTES GET UP HERE OH MY GOD."

The four(?) members of Big Time Rush all exchanged looks, and then with a heavy sigh sang, " ah ah, oh ohh ," while making their way up to the stage. The attention was quickly switched away from the band however, by a commotion in the crowd.

"I volunteer!" Ocean Shores cried out, and the members of Big Time Rush perked up, and began to high five over the fact that they would now not be entering into the Hunger Games, before Logan Mitchell, the "smart one of the group" announced to the others that a girl couldn't volunteer for a boy, a fact which Angela had forgotten about until Logan had mentioned it. A terrible sad twist of fate that if the group had known would have most likely resulted in the group saying " ah ah, oh ohh ."

Ocean Shores, upon reaching the podium, declared that she would spread her anti-fish eating message to all of Panem, seemingly unaware that flyers and billboards could be an equally effective way of spreading her message, and unsurprisingly even more unaware that a hit single by Big Time Rush about the terror of eating fish would be far more effective than her martyrdom.

Unsurprisingly, this narrator does not know how to conclude this chapter and transition into the narrator note.

 _And so our journey continues. While Ocean Shores declared that she would swim to the Capitol with the dolphins, four boys packed into the back of a now uncomfortably cramped car next to an oddly obsessed young Gamemaker who insisted on sitting on James' ("the handsome one of the group") lap, with James unsurprisingly being uncomfortable yet actually quite surprisingly too kind to say no to the odd request._

 _Instead, while Paris Hilton continued to drive onward to District Five with little room for the rest of our numerous remaining tributes, and Angela did a dramatic reading of her BTR fanfiction, and Jonathan Garcia attempted to have a rap battle with the other members of BTR and claim that he had "mad singing skills that make you dudes sound like shit" and that he attracted "mad babes, like, way more babes then you guys get," the car ran dangerously low on gas with nobody having any money to pay for gas. Still though, they trucked along, their fate left up to the whims of fate and a lazy author who doesn't even know who will get reaped in District Five._

 _Unsurprisingly unsurprising,_

 _~The Narrator_


	6. Out of Gas

It is fair to assume that after two months without being seen, lost in the vast wilderness aptly named "Browse" that we would never again see our brave heroes. The person to assume that would, sadly, be incorrect. Due to contractual obligations and a strangely strong sense of masochism, this narrator cannot stand to leave this story untold. So it is with a heavy heart, tears streaming down my cheeks, and a contraption to force my eyes open so that I cannot peel them away from this horrible piece of art, that I continue this story.

It is fair to assume that after two months without being seen, lost in the vast wilderness aptly named "Wilderness" that we would never again see our brave heroes. The person to assume that would, sadly, be incorrect. Due to an empty gas tank and a strangely strong lack of intelligence, the seven members packed into the small car belonging to one Paris Hilton had stalled out in the middle of nowhere. So it was with a flawed piece of biology and geology information, very little thought, and an overwhelming amount of flirtation from a head Gamemaker obsessed with cats towards the four unfortunate members of a boy band, that this story continues.

"This is hot," Paris Hilton said, for once in her life referring to the temperature which was indeed quite high, rather than the attractiveness of the situation, was was quite not hot.

"Hey James," Angel Markianas cooed in a very un-seductive voice. "Why don't you blow on me to cool me down."

"That's not hot," Paris Hilton said.

"You know what's not hot?" The District Two boy who's name this narrator both does not know and does not care about says. "The fact that we're stuck in the middle of nowhere with no service, so I can't even log on to Itunes to listen to Eminem's new album!"

"Maybe I could be of some assistance!" Came the voice of Toccata Toucan, an Enchantimal knock-off who's form has been mysteriously deleted. "It appears you are out of gas."

"Thanks, very helpful," Angel Markianas said sarcastically, while Paris Hilton nodded in quite serious agreement.

"So, all we have to do is make some gas!" Toccata cheered.

"How do we make gas?" Kendall, the leader of BTR asked, or maybe asks, as this narrator cannot recall which tense he has been using.

"Ooh, I know!" Logan, the smartest of BTR (a very impressive feat) exclaimed. "Oil comes from dinosaurs that have decomposed!"

"So we just need to find a dinosaur!" Carols, the wildcard, shouts, seemingly unaware of the current population of dinosaurs on earth.

"Wait, aren't birds like, the ancestors of dinosaurs?" Angel asks curiously.

"Yes!" Toccata proudly proclaims. "Birds are the modern day dino-"

 _BOOM!_

Before Toccata can finish her sentence a bullet enters her forehead.

"Oh shit!"

"Fuck, man, that's fucked!"

"What the hell?"

"That's hot."

"What?" Angel asks, tucking the pistol back into her belt. "She said birds are dinosaurs, she's clearly some sort of bird, so all we have to do is just shove her corpse into the gas tank and wait for her to decompose."

"That-" Logan starts, but then he pauses, unable to find a hole in the plan, in much the opposite way as one would not have trouble finding a hole in Toccata's forehead.

 _And so our story sadly continues. With the seven members stuffing the body of the twelve-year-old girl who is not a bird into the extremely small tank of a car in a manner that is best not described, nor left up for the imagination. It is in fact best to leave it up to no thought whatsoever, and instead ignore the situation altogether. And while one is at that they may decide to ignore this entire story, including but not limited to the increasing murder count of Angel Markianas, the Hot Dog in District One, and the horribly sad tale that was Athena Da Vinci's story._

 _It is also best not to think about the amount of time that it takes a dinosaur to decompose into oil, just as it is unwise to consider whether or not a bird decomposes into oil at all. It would be quite intelligent to think about as many things as Toccata Toucan thought about as her body was squeezed into a one inch hole. Nothing._

 _With Nothing,_

 _~The Narrator_


End file.
